


Unspoken Truths

by LadyRhiyana



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon-typical attitudes towards homosexuality, Gen, all the feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24099274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRhiyana/pseuds/LadyRhiyana
Summary: “I’ve never slept with a knight before,” Jaime said.[Afterwards, Brienne put her hand on his cheek and smiled. “Liar,” she whispered.]
Relationships: Arthur Dayne/Jaime Lannister, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 35
Kudos: 177





	Unspoken Truths

“I’ve never slept with a knight before,” Jaime said. 

[Afterwards, Brienne put her hand on his cheek and smiled. “Liar,” she whispered.]

** 

“Tell me about him,” Brienne said. 

In the hushed silence of their chambers, lying curled together with her beneath the fur covers, her eyes were blue and solemn and steady. 

Still, Jaime had been lying for a lifetime. 

“I don’t know what you –” 

“Jaime.” She sighed, trailed her fingers over the old, faded scar on his shoulder. _All knights must bleed._ “Tell me about Ser Arthur Dayne.”

“I’m not – we weren’t –” He stumbled, caught by the clear sincerity of her gaze.

“You said it yourself, once: we don’t get to choose who we love.” 

He looked away. 

Finally, he cleared his throat and began. “He knighted me on the field of battle. The Sword of the Morning. The greatest of the Kingsguard, the sworn brother of Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Barristan Selmy, of Prince Lewyn Martell and Ser Jonothor Darry.” He looked back to Brienne. “Can you imagine it?”

She stroked his face. “I don’t need to imagine it,” she whispered. 

“When the king clasped the white cloak around my shoulders, and the crowd cheered and called my name, Arthur embraced me and called me ‘brother’. He was so open in his joy, so sincere in his welcome.” Jaime swallowed, forced a razor-thin smile. “Nothing like Cersei.”

Brienne tangled her fingers with his, a caress. “Go on.”

“Well. I soon realised that the king’s honour was a mockery and the white cloak a cage. Arthur and the others did their best to reassure me: _Wait,_ they said. _Kings come and go, but the Kingsguard endures._ He kept telling me to be patient.”

He paused for a moment, and then continued. “The first time I witnessed one of Aerys’ executions, I went to Arthur’s chambers in the White Sword Tower, and we talked of honour and obedience and loyalty – we got drunk together, and –”

“And?” Brienne watched him with her steady blue eyes. There was no judgment in them, no disgust; only clear understanding. 

“We –” He swallowed. “It was about trust, you understand. Intimacy and reassurance, and even – love. Not…not lust.”

“I know,” Brienne said quietly. “I know, Jaime.” 

“We went on like that, sworn brothers and companions, and every now and then, when things got very bad, I would go to his chambers.” He closed his eyes, remembering the warmth of another body in the night, the slow, reassuring rhythm of Arthur’s breathing, the low cadence of his voice. 

Such a short time they’d known each other. No more than a year.

“And then – and then Prince Rhaegar rode north,” Jaime said simply. “Arthur went with him, and I never saw him again.” 

Just like that. 

A brief moment in the life of a sister-fucker and a Kingslayer. No one would think to name him pillow-biter as well. 

“Jaime,” Brienne said. “There’s no shame in it. How can there be shame, where there is love?”

He stared at her. Her eyes were so blue, her regard so gentle and honest – she saw _him_ , everything he was, and everything he could have been but wasn’t. And still she chose him. 

“I’m not that boy of five and ten anymore,” he said. 

She blinked. Her lips curled in a slow smile. “I should hope not.” She pressed closer to him, her hand curling into his hair. 

“Would he still think me honourable now?” 

She was warm and solid against him, her breathing slow and steady as she turned his question over in her mind. “I’m no longer the naïve maid I was when I first left Tarth. I’ve broken my oaths, and killed my sworn liege. I’ve lain with a man out of wedlock. Does that make me less than what I was, or more?” 

He only sighed. “More,” he said, pressing his brow to hers and staring into her blue, blue eyes. “Much more.”

“And so are you much more than that young boy,” she said quietly.

She leaned in and kissed him gently, her lips soft and warm and hesitant. He sighed into the kiss as he returned it, his hand coming up to cup her cheek and caress her. 

“Brienne,” he breathed softly. “This – what’s between us – is not about lust. It’s not even about comfort or reassurance. It’s more than that.” 

“I know,” she said, her hand over his heart. “I know, Jaime.” 

**

Slowly, reverently, they came together once more, mouths meeting, breath mingling, eyes locked on each other – a truer intimacy than any joining of bodies. 

Eventually, as the fire burned low and the night grew silent and still, they slept.


End file.
